Trying To Breath Learning To Walk
by eden alice
Summary: "He can't fix the people around him when he can't even fix himself." Jack trying to deal with recent events.


Trying To Breath (Learning To Walk)

His muscles shake with tight exhaustion and his jaw clenched tightly enough for it to spasm painfully. Still he focused on making his legs bear his weight, his good arm leaning heavily on his walking stick. Determination narrowed his eyes and sweat shined against his brow.

It was almost like an existential experience, his legs had not felt like his in the longest time and with muscle wastage they did not look the same. Even his good leg had suffered.

He felt like half a man split directly down the middle and it was absolutely terrifying.

He needs to do this. Needs to be able to do something so simple as to take a few steps without his brother's constant goading because there is not much else he can do.

He can't fix the people around him when he can't even fix himself.

It is like his every nightmare was coming true and all he could do was to sit in the bloody chair and watch impassively.

Ronnie had been amazing even when he was at his stubborn best. She gave him hope when he thought there was only hopelessness. She gave him a future and something to reach for and he was determined to walk just to see the expression on her delicate features.

Only now as old secrets came to light he had never felt so powerless. Logically maybe he knew that even if his body was complete this would still be a nightmare that he had no control over but he had always been hot headed. And a thought that had seeped into his brain when he'd awoke in a hospital bed unable to move had now wrapped its roots around his synapses till it was a permeate resident; maybe this was revenge for Penny. Maybe the universe was finally paying him back for all the ways his sins had hurt his daughter.

He liked to believe that it was not true, not for himself but for Ronnie. He could not believe that karma could be so cruel as to hurt a woman who had already been made a victim so many times throughout her life.

Victim was never a word he had ever associated with the cold and independent blond. But as he sat there listening to her confession and then later confronting her mother it suddenly became another word to describe the woman he loved and he hated it even more than he knew she would.

If he was a whole man he would have done more. He wanted to do more even if he had only made things worse at least he would have an outlet for the rage and sadness. Instead it settled inside him, pushing at his heart and lungs till he thought it might destroy him. He had not even been able to pull Roxy of her sister when she'd launched herself at her.

In moments of confession and confrontation he had never felt so invisible and pathetic. Three small agonizingly slow steps and his legs finally buckle. He falls to the floor in a boneless heap, a scream of pain, anger and frustration rumbling deep in his chest and escapes his lips. He wished he had been the one to murder Archie. He had never believed that Bradley had been the one to murder that monster, but if it was true Jack could empathise with that kind of desperate rage.

He remembered what it felt like to have his hands around the old mans throat and a red mist distorting his actions. He had been so convicted with his decision to commit murder, that he was justified in his need to protect the woman he loved. And back then he had not even known the extent of her father's sins. A part of him felt cheated that Archie was already dead, he would never be punished and he would never have to explain why. Not that there was anything he could do to justify all the hurt he caused but Jack wanted to see the whites of his eyes as he became judge, jury and executioner.

He had never seen Ronnie so still and despondent, even as her family argued over her bowed head she had simply sat in silent tears. All he had wanted to do was to gather her in his arms and shelter her from the accusations and try to take away all the memories she had carried in silence for so long. Only he could not even butter his own toast.

And he did not think he could be surprised any more or that things could get any worse it turns out that even her mother betrayed her in the worse possible way. Pain explodes through his fingers and pulses in hot waves up to his shoulder before he is consciously aware of punching the floor. It doesn't seem to matter if he injures his one working arm, it would never compare to her hurt and he feels ashamed for all the time he had spent sulking rather than trying.

But she had not even complained, she has submitted to the safety of his arms on fleeting moments of weakness. At least then he could be a comfort, her safe haven, but he had already hurt her so much and he still could not find the words that could make any of it marginally better.

Most of the time she hides behind the façade of acceptance and keeps him at arm length. He knows it is a safety mechanism she has had a life time to perfect but it still hurts, still makes him feel even more inept. He knew her well enough to see the brittleness of her smile or the spark of something in the blue of her eyes that betrayed any sense of calmness even more than her constant need to be occupied.

It would be best not to push her when she tried to close herself off but he was worried she would become brittle and collapse under the mental strain. Sometimes he had no idea how she had managed to stay so sane.

Only perhaps maybe he did not know her as well as he thought. He had not suspected, he did not even believe after he heard it all fall from her lips. He should have known he should have somehow protected her.

He had spent a lot of time over the past few weeks reliving the past and there is a lot that is too weighty for him to grasp. Part of him wants to talk to her about it but mostly he is afraid of hearing things he won't be able to change, things he missed.

Then there were all the ways he had made things worse. He cringes and hits the floor again when he thinks about all the times he had said the wrong thing. Even as white pain explodes behind his eyes he can still remember the way she had flinched when he had angrily called her damaged. It makes him want to throw up and suddenly he can understand why she never told him, because he had already let her down. He has to hope that Ronnie had not agreed with his words because then he would not know how to live with himself.

He has no idea how she coped with her father back in her life. He should have noticed the way she would teeter on the edge of a breakdown but she already had so much to be upset over and he could never imagine someone purposely hurting her that much.

But he should have known. He had spent years in the police force and had seen many people at their very lowest. He was familiar with the signs and it all seemed to clear now. Ronnie was never scared of anyone, she was icy and elegant, but right away he could see the fear and the way she unravelled a little when faced with her father.

Now he dreamed of past cases, all the ones with little abused girls and women who had been beaten and clutched at their torn clothing. Only every time they looked up at him they would be wearing his fiancés face.

It wakes him up and he has to face the quite darkness of their bedroom and her frame curled up besides him.

She had always slept curled up; she liked a shot of vodka before she went to bed. How did this ever seem normal?

And then there are all the times he had played Ronnie off her sister. He was ashamed to admit that he had often done it intentionally trying to get a reaction when talking to her had been like addressing a blank wall. A child with her sister had given him a new power over her and at times he used it to hurt her so he would not be the only one to face the darkness.

He had been an idiot.

Especially as he knows that her father did the same. He had seen it with his own eyes and heard little snippets the few times she would willingly talk about the past. And then he did not understand how Ronnie could bear to be around him even for the smallest similarity between himself and that monster. But the woman he loved had a large capability to forgive, he saw that now.

She had even agreed to be a bridesmaid at her fathers wedding.

She would be home soon and the last thing she needed to find was the crumpled form of her lover crying angry tears and nursing a possible broken hand. He could not let her down anymore.

He was able to see through the darkness enough to understand he had a chance to change all his past mistakes. He could be there for Ronnie and help her live with the past just like he could learn to walk again.

Slowly he pulls himself back towards his waiting wheelchair. He crawls and bites into his bottom lip, the lack of dignity about his paralysis no longer mattering.

They were both broken people but they had each other and maybe that could be enough.


End file.
